Christmas is Comin’

Many years ago, the pastor S.M. Lockridge famously delivered his poetic treatment of Good Friday entitled "Sunday's Comin'." (Listen here.) What follows is my respectful tribute to both his grasp of theology and mastery of language as well as a work befitting this holiday season.

It's the day after the fall of man.

Adam and Eve are exiled.

In sin, their hearts are grieving.

No human is allowed into Eden.

But Christmas is comin'.

It's raining.

Noah and his family aboard the ark.

Animals inside as the flood starts.

The skies with God's judgment growing dark.

And all the while Christmas is comin'.

It's another day in the land of Ur.

Abraham is called from all he knows.

A promise is given.

A son will be born.

Another, greater, later still.

But year by year, Christmas is comin'.

It's the Passover.

All Egypt is wailing.

Israel is waiting.

The blood at the door mediating.

Whispering the promise that Christmas is comin'.

It's a day in the midst of wilderness wandering.

A time of sand, scorpions, and serpents.

All the circles the people walk

Draw a straight line to the fact

That Christmas is a'comin'.

It's victory.

The Promised Land entered.

The enemies conquered.

Milk and honey flow.

But no one seems to anticipate

A far sweeter day.

Christmas is comin'.

It's the time of the prophets.

They call for repentance,

To turn without delay.

But the people ignore the plea

While Adam's exile is replayed.

Yet, Christmas is comin'.

And heaven grows silent.

While for centuries the world rages on.

But let me tell you something:

Christmas is comin'.

400 years pass

After Malachi goes off the air.

It might seem to some

That God doesn't care.

But he knows, oh he knows,

That Christmas is comin'.

Then comes the rule of Persia.

And Alexander with all the Greeks.

After that Rome arises

Bringing war, then great peace.

Then Caesar decrees

All be counted and taxed.

Mary and Joseph leave

To travel all the miles back

To Bethlehem.

The home of David,

Who wore the king's crown.

But no other great renown

For this too-small town.

But a manger there

Leads to the cross,

And the cross

To an empty grave.

The finished work of redemption

Begins (and ends) with this little babe.

The evening air punctuated

By an infant's cry.

One whose breath gave Adam life

And whose birth announced,

Declared,

Proclaimed,

By angelic choir across the sky.

For all night will someday end

With an glorious, eternal morning.

Because of this…one…truth…

Christmas is a’comin'.

(2025)